


Care to Share?

by EbonyKnight



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Sherstrade Month 2017, The Thames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 14:51:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9553478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EbonyKnight/pseuds/EbonyKnight
Summary: Sherlock jumps into the Thames after a laptop and Greg goes in after him. Of course, that means they both need showers. Obvious, really. Can Greg's willpower hold out against Sherlock in nothing but a towel?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.
> 
> Written for Sherstrade Month 2017. Using the London prompt (I went with the Thames) and incorporating yesterday's prompt of 'firsts' (first kiss). Having had a shite day, I very much enjoyed writing some fluffy Sherstrade. 
> 
> Beta'd by my darling, dearest friend in the whole world, RomanyWalker. 
> 
> Feedback is loved. It's great to hear what people think.

“It’s the sodding Thames, Sherlock! In February! What were you thinking?” John Watson thundered, standing over Greg and Sherlock where they were sprawled, soaked and panting, on the bank of the Thames. 

At that moment, Greg would have quite enjoyed dunking _John_ in the Thames but had not the energy to do it. Fat lot of good he had been when Sherlock had dived into the sodding river after a laptop. “All right, John,” he panted, “can the yelling wait until we’re warm and dry, please?”

Sherlock snorted and sat up, shirt clinging wetly as he moved. “Adcock threw the laptop into the river. Had I not gone after it you would never have been able to prove that he's the one pulling the strings in Wedgewood’s organisation. We spent almost a week trying to get to him: I was hardly going to let him go because of a bit of water.”

“A bit of water? I swear to God, Sherlock—”

“—Yes, yes; I’m sure he's appalled, too,” Sherlock interrupted irritably and picked up the laptop in question, handing it off to one of Greg’s team. “It'll take effort to get it working again but everything should be on here.”

Singh nodded. “Thank you. Adcock's been arrested and Donovan said you’re to go home, sir,” the young constable said, looking down amusedly at Greg. 

“Yeah, think I will. When you’ve got that to the station, I want you and Donovan clocking off. Understand?”

Greg sighed as Singh departed. “Did you really have to jump in after it, you tit?”

Sherlock smirked, plucking distastefully at his wet shirt. “Swimming is good for you, Lestrade.”

“You know what?” John demanded, balling his hands into fists, “I’ve had enough of this; you want to kill yourself jumping into rivers, have at it!” The doctor marched away, and Greg thought he looked very much like he had a hot poker rectally inserted. 

“You know, he has got a point about jumping into rivers. Not that I’m ungrateful, but a laptop isn't worth your life.”

Sherlock looked levelly at Greg, a look the older man felt right down to his toes. “Fine.”

“Come on,” Greg said, pushing himself up off the ground. “We’re drawing attention and I’m not having you catching pneumonia while you're working for me, or your brother'll have my head.” 

Sherlock huffed, accepting the hand Greg was holding out and allowed himself to be pulled up from the ground. The walk to where Greg had abandoned his car was made in silence, the two of them drawing curious and amused looks from people as they passed, dripping and shivering as they were. When they reached Greg’s police-issue BMW he went to the boot and dug out the bag of spare clothing kept there for emergencies. The trousers would fall from Sherlock’s skinny waist, but the jumper would do for the time being. 

“Here,” he said, holding out the garment blindly as he rooted around the boot for his hoodie. “Get your shirt off.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Sherlock replied, and Greg could hear the smirk in his voice. 

He looked up at the younger man, trying not to stare as Sherlock shrugged out of his wet shirt, distracting amounts of pale skin being revealed. “Very funny.” He pulled his old, worn hoodie on, relishing the scant protection it offered from the February chill. A pair of young women passed, pointing at them and giggling and he waved back with a cheeky grin. “Get in the car before you get mauled, will you?” 

“Why do you refuse my advances?” Sherlock asked a few minutes later, once they were on the way home.

“Don’t know what you’re on about,” Greg replied absently, attention largely on the Audi tailgating him and hoping that Sherlock would forget about it. A moment later the car swerved out into the adjacent lane and accelerated aggressively to overtake, barely missing the white van approaching from the other direction. “Fucking Audi drivers!” Greg shouted, sounding the horn with more force than was strictly necessary. “Think they sodding own the road, the lot of them.”

“You do realise that John drives an Audi?” 

Greg snorted. “Not really surprised, to honest. You want taking home or to my place? Mine is closer but you’d have to put up with my company whilst your stuff is drying.”

“Yes, your house. You can make me dinner, too.”

By the time they reached Greg’s house, Sherlock was shivering violently. “You okay? Not about to pass out from hypothermia?” he asked as they got out of the car.

“Not yet, no.”

Greg made quick work of unlocking the door and went straight to the kitchen to turn the heating up. “Go and have a shower. You know where everything is,” he told Sherlock.

It was a testament to how cold the younger man must have been that he didn't argue, heading straight upstairs to the bathroom. Barely a minute later Greg heard the sound of the shower starting and Sherlock’s wet clothes landing at the bottom of the stairs. 

With nothing else to do until the shower was free, Greg stripped down to his boxers and loaded the washing machine with his and Sherlock’s wet clothes. He briefly considered trying to salvage his shoes, but quickly decided that they were a lost cause and binned them. 

He was in the middle of preparing a pot of tea when the shower shut off, and abandoned the pot to its fate, the need for a hot shower paramount. At the top of the stairs he met Sherlock leaving the bathroom, a small white towel wrapped tightly around his waist and droplets of water trailing down his chest. 

“Your water pressure leaves a lot to be desired.”

Greg, fighting an uphill battle to keep his eyes off Sherlock’s dusky nipples, brushed past him and stepped into the small bathroom. “Got you clean, didn’t it?” he asked, turning the shower back on. The room was delightfully warm and steamy, and Greg felt himself relax as some of the cold left his body.

He turned to get a towel off the shelf and came face to face with Sherlock. “Jesus!” he exclaimed, heart racing. “You trying to give me a heart attack?”

Sherlock stepped forward, closing the space between them, close enough that Greg could see water droplets on his eyelashes and feel the heat radiating from his bare chest. “You didn’t answer my question. In the car.”

“What question?” Greg asked, struggling to think about anything other than having a semi-naked Sherlock _right fucking there_.

“I asked why you persistently refuse my advances. I know that you’re as attracted to me as I am to you and that you have wanted me for many years. I had hoped that you would make a move, or accept one of mine, after your divorce, but you continue to deflect any flirting. Even now you can barely keep your eyes off my chest but aren't acting on it.” He leant right into Greg’s personal space, and when he next spoke, his lips brushed Greg’s left ear. “I’m in your bathroom wearing nothing but a towel, Greg.”

Anything else he might have said would have to go down as one of life’s mysteries, for Greg’s willpower snapped. He raised a hand, tangled his fingers in Sherlock’s hair, and pulled him in for a deep, demanding kiss. The kiss was hot and sweet and passionate, and Greg never wanted it to end. His free hand travelled down Sherlock’s chest, stroking and caressing and worshipping, until he reached the towel. With one deft movement he had it unravelled, allowing it to pool on the floor. Sherlock shifted immediately, pressing bodily against him, and Greg could feel the other man’s arousal as clearly as he could feel his own. 

“You’re covered in Thames water: I’m in need of another shower now,” Sherlock breathed against ear, causing a chill to run through his body. “Care to share?”


End file.
